Of Liars and Pretenders
by Palaemona
Summary: "You stole my breath away," she whispered in the shadows.
1. Darkness

**Of Liars and Pretenders**

'_A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable.'_

_(King Lear)_

…

_{ darkness} _

…

She had slipped through the shadowed hallways, clinging to the darkness. Her hair floated down her back like waterfall moonlight. Her body rippled with death, fading softly. Her eyes were bright like the stars, reflecting misery and memories.

"I knew you would return." She had stated, her voice carefully breaking the cold silence. "You had nowhere left to go."

He stiffened, watching her. Her bare feet skipped lightly on the bitter stone, and he shivered from the cool air. "Well, I am back. I suppose you can leave now."

She giggled lightly, stepping forward slightly. "And where would I go?"

Silence struck him, and he was unsure. "To your home. The Weasleys. Anywhere, really. Just not here."

"I am happy here though. My home was destroyed, remember? And the Weasley's never remember me." She sighed, tilting her head. He looked at the broken windows, and the dusty floors. His footsteps marked his presence, while the glow of her death created her own presence.

"Why would you assume I would remember you?" He scoffed, kicking a piece of broken glass with the toe of his shoe. His mother had gotten him these very shoes when he was two years younger and she was still alive. They're scuffed and worn, dirtied with blood.

"Because you killed me, silly!" She giggled, tilting her head back to laugh. A long scar marked her throat gently, burning reality against her soft figure. "You never forget a person you kill, never. Even Voldermort never forgot a name." Her figure glows like pearls, a soft light that wraps around her body. She's tangled and woven deep within death's grip, and he can only watch as she remains to watch. Eternity, she had said. She had eternity to watch him.

He flinched at the name and glared. "Stop saying his name."

"Harry isn't afraid. Why are you afraid?" Luna whispered from his harshness. She stepped back, darkness breaking through her form.

"Why on Earth would I be scared? Malfoy's are never scared." Draco sneered, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the dead girl. Respect the dead, in an odd sense.

She smiled at the idea of it all, and began to step forward. "You didn't look to brave when you sliced my neck," Her eyes widened with laughter, and she continued. "You had asked if you had to. Hadn't wanted to get my dirty blood upon your robes. But the mean lady said yes. And then she made you kill me."

He paled at the memory, and shuddered. "Get out." He hissed.

Her darkness began to shimmer, hiding her figure from him. "You can't hide from the past."

"_Get out."_

"I can't, Draco."

…

They meet at the stroke of midnight. He doesn't sleep and she is unable to sleep. They fit together like puzzle pieces, in a strange retrospect. Worn away and left to cling to one another. He resists her though, hiding from her silvery form.

"You never smile." She muses, perched on a railing as he slumps over on the stairs. A fallen chandelier marks a battle, and a blood stain marks a death. He remembers the sudden spells and curses, the screams and pleading. The knife had been awkward in his hands, and her neck had been so delicate.

"Why should I?" He gifts her with his words. For days he stayed silent, buried under blankets. She had hummed soft Muggle tunes, and drifted through hallways meaninglessly.

She giggles. She always giggles. Her white lips stretch into a wide smile. "Because you look nicer when you smile."

"Go to hell."

Her giggling ceases quickly, and he feels cold and she feels dark. "I can't Draco." Her long fingers play with strands of her hair, twirling them softly. Her eyes glistened with tears, glazed over. It's a stunning reminder to when his Father was still alive and had taken him ice skating on frozen winter ponds in his younger years.

"Why not?" He's unsure, but has to know. Her soft presence had been grinding him into the past, her death and her life reflected through her spirit. He wants to hide from it all, but she is always there. Watching and waiting.

She tilts her head softly, and gives a mournful sigh. "Is my company that wretched?"

He withdraws a small packet of Muggle cigarettes and sighs. "Yes. You've been driving me insane."

Her eyes harden, and he feels pinned down beneath her gaze. "Good. You've driven me to death."

Somehow he feels a simple sorry will not ease his suffering, or undue the past.

…

"Did you ever play the piano?" She asked one night when the clouds stole the moon away. He had lit candles to fight the suffocating darkness away.

He remains frigid, like icy stone. "No."

"How very shameful. You look like you were taught." She speaks oddly half the time, and he had never quite figured the art of ignoring her or understanding what she was rambling.

"It's a sin." His words remain short and bitter. Almost like her life.

Silence grew between the two for stolen moments, and he relished the quiet. "Don't say that word, Draco."

"And why can I not speak it?" He raises a mere eye brow at the foolishness of this girl.

She shivers from the past and shuts her eyes. Frost coated her harsh words as she whispered into the darkening night, "I swear to the Lord that you will live to regret it, if you do."

He stilled, watching the inner rage take control of her body. "Alright then."

"Good." She relaxed softly, dim light warming her figure. Her dark orbs reflect pain though, glistening with darkness and afterlife.

He peels back slowly layer after layer of wallpaper while she hums slight tunes. "What is it like to be dead?"

She draws her one word out, rolling the vowels and stretching the all out. "Marvellous,"

"Really?"

She chuckles, and stands. "No. It's a living hell."

…

Some night he wanders to the cellar.

She follows, of course. It's been her sworn duty to make his life misery ever since her last breath. She's floating in darkness, a bright shining light. Like a beacon of life, with sick irony twisting the statement.

It's cold beneath the house, and death rots deep underneath the floorboards. Dried blood coated frigid ground, and chains rattle with the soft whispers of afterlife. She remains quiet, and he says nothing. This was her prison for months upon months. He has no right to ruin the peace.

Some nights he lights candles.

He imagines that with each candle lit, she might stop resenting and hating and haunting him.

He's pretending that he isn't terrified.

She's lying when she promises that she doesn't mind being dead.

"You stole my breath away," she whispered in the shadows.

…

She wanders through the Manor with no purpose nor life.

Paintings of past ancestors of the Malfoy's glare down at her. As if they know she is unwelcomes and unwanted and simply not needed. She smiles however, and trades comments with them. She replies sweetly to their scathing words that she wises them plenty of happiness through the years to come.

"Do you remember when I was locked up?" She sometimes asks.

And he of course can never forget it. "Yes. You drew paintings on the floor with your blood." He had never been quite sure where she had found the nail. He wondered what ever happened to the nail after she died. If it was still lying in the basement or if it was gone somehow.

"Did you ever remember that I was buried underneath your home?" She looks at him, eyes bright with wonder. "Ever regret?"

He flinches from the memories. His aunt's laughter ringing through the home and the wretched screams of agony that he couldn't help nor prevent. "Every night."

"It's a shame, isn't it?" Luna's words float with a strange hollowness.

The words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them. "What's a shame?"

It's a single word that hangs between them, scowling down upon them. She's standing on a railing and he's leaning against the opposite. Around them moan the age of the manor, and the whispers of the dead.

"Life."

…

He's able to leave now. He doesn't have to stay. He's been cleared of war crimes, because it's an endless wonder what large sums of money can do. He returns to the broken Manor, rotting with her death and his life.

"You look like your Father," She smiled at him as he slumped over a bottle of Dragon Mead. His Father's favourite, of course. He studies the fire carefully, watching it crackle and burn. The flames writhe in agonizing care, dancing before him. He remember the times when Father had been sitting in this very chair, bent over one paper or another, with his Mother close by. He doesn't like thinking of them much any more, because they're dead now.

"I know." He speaks carefully. His ears ring from the night when the rain fell and the thunder roared. She had become a banshee, wailing into the night. She had turned into a creature of hate and destruction, howling rage and deception.

She finishes with ease, as if he never said a word. "But your eyes are similar to your Mother's eyes."

He repeats his earlier statement, unable to pull his eyes from the dancing flames. The cackle like his Aunt had. Luna had upon occasion displayed the very same laugh.

"Almost like Harry."

He stiffens at the words and looks at her.

Luna had drifted to the floor, sitting cross legged on the embroidered carpeting. Her fingers drum soundlessly against the floor, and her eyes are shut. The angry scar on her neck glares at him, reminding him that she is dead and there is nothing he can do about it. Sometimes he finds himself wishing though, that he never killed her and she never died.

"Why do you bring him up?" He questions, and she smiles.

"Did you know he was my first kiss?" Her words are bittersweet. "I used to think I loved him. But he lied and used me, and left me behind."

"Potter's a prick." He speaks blunt truth. Not every being in the word worships the very breath the Boy-Who-Lived took.

She giggled, and opened her eyes. "I think you are right."

He sighs. "What did it feel like when I killed you?"

She smiles. "Wonderful. Like a lover's touch upon my life, sealing it within my death."

Silence reigns for moments, and he shatters it with forced ease. "Do you enjoy being a ghost?"

"No. It's not particularly interesting." She giggles, and her head tilts to the side and hair falls into her face. The scar upon her neck looks softer now, in the light of midnight.

He turns away. "You're strange, Lovegood."

"No, Malfoy. I'm dead."

…

She is serene being of death. She hides in the night.

He is a horrid beast of life. He eats death for eternity.

In another world, they would have perhaps been right for one another. In this life though, he was the one whom had stolen her away from the living, and she was the one that haunted him with the voice of the dead.

She doesn't mind watching him suffer. He doesn't mind her blood stain marking the floor.

They're so intertwined that he can never escape her clutches and she can never abandon his grasp.

Some nights she reminds him of an angel, palely lit in the night. Some days he swears he sees a devil when he catches glimpse of his reflections.

…

Sometimes he manages to fall to sleep. Blankets shield his sleeping form from the coolness of the air, and the spiders hanging above. Spider webs had become common in the corners of the Manor far too frequently it had seemed. Luna had noticed as well, because she commented often of the population.

"Are you sleeping yet?" She asks on occasion.

His response runs like clockwork. "Yes." Always a yes, never a no. She had hated it when he said no to her questions, and he had found himself slipping into saying yes. The truth hidden beneath his words.

"What is it like to sleep?" She's forgotten now how to live. The very concepts of food had become foreign to her now, and sleep was a mere long lost whim of living.

He feels guilty of course when he fails to answer her.

…

"Are you ever going to leave?"

"I cannot leave."

…

_The first installment in the three shot. I'm pretty proud. So, my final DracoxLuna story for this long little while. Might try a Black Butler story soon. I got a Death Note one laid out, and I am very excited to start working on it. _

_The next chapter will be called 'daybreak'. _


	2. Daybreak

**Of Liars and Pretenders **

…

"_The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, are of imagination all compact." _

_(A Midsummer Night's Dream)_

…_._

_{ D. A. Y. B. R. E. A. K }_

…

"Do you love me?"

"I'd be a liar if I said yes."

…

Astoria.

It's a pretty name for such a pretty pure blooded Princess. He hates her though, with every breath that he takes.

Luna remains hidden away, watching and waiting. Astoria knows nothing of the dead little girl wandering the halls, and it's simpler that way. He's unsure how to explain to his wife that he's in loved with the girl he killed. His wife is still in love with the dead Hufflepuff that once lived and breathed like anyone else.

Almost a year ago, Astoria had wandered to his door and demanded he marry her.

Almost a year ago, he had been drunk out of his mind and agreed.

Luna sometimes whispers in his ear still, "Have you forgotten me yet?"

He'll shiver because the truth is crawling up his spine, and slowly peeling the flesh and nerves away from his body. It's ever blissful agony, and he wants to say no, because he loves her dearly. He regrets her blood upon his hands, and wishes for just stolen moments of life.

"No. You won't get the hell away from me." He's a liar, but he doesn't regret it.

She knows the truth, buried beneath lie after lie.

"Go ahead, Draco. Tell me another lie."

So he does.

…

Astoria once loved a Hufflepuff. Now she's in love with a corpse.

Luna had sung the song through the halls, echoing loudly through the stillness of the manor. Astoria had been gone for a meeting, leaving Draco to the empty Manor, and the strange little ghost. He had watched her dart through the halls, feet slapping floor with unbroken glee.

"That's really not nice." He had once mused to her, forcing her to stop.

She giggled loudly, turning to him slowly. Her skin gleamed like his mother's opals, eyes lit with laughter. "She was very nice to me when she burned my books, was she?"

"She burned your books?"

She's offended, drawing back like a snake waiting to strike. "Do I ever lie?"

He dares not answer.

…

He knows the moment he smells fire whiskey on her skin.

He knows when she becomes swollen with life, her womb budding with child.

"What shall we name her?" He can hear her voice. It's burdened with grief and hope, sick with misery and lies. He feasts on her pain willingly without regret. Luna watches them from behind the wall, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

His voice is like razors. Slicing into the truth and devouring it without relent. "Whatever _he_ wants."

She doesn't deny it. She's unable to say a word with his knife at her throat. It's impossible to say a word with her heart frozen in terror and breath stolen away.

Her eyes remind him of Luna's. Filled with tears and regret, poisoned by lies and fear. He doesn't kill her though, because he's already been driven insane with the little ghost already. He doesn't need another ghost wandering behind him.

…

"Remember when we first met?" Luna asked, bare feet skimming across fresh grass. Astoria was gone, most likely to visit some Ravenclaw.

He's brushing dirt from his hands and looking up at her. The gardens had become his haven, filled with life and brightness. His mother once haunted the gardens, devoting hour upon hour to them. "No. Care to remind me?"

She tilts her head and rolls her diamond like eyes. "Silly Draco. I'll tell you."

When she says nothing, he frowns. "Well? Go on."

"How can I when your eyes are open like that?" She shakes her head, a foolish grin breaking her face.

He sighs, as if it is a burden to flutter his eyes shut. "Happy?"

"Delightful." She leans forward, and he imagines her pale hair brushing against his skin. "You met me after Filch's poor kitty was petrified. You told me I'd be dying soon, because my blood wasn't pure enough. Remember?"

He remembers.

"You reminded me of that?" He growls roughly. He doesn't understand her strange babbles. She's disorienting, forever there but never still.

"No. I'm only reminding you of what had followed the incident. You had told me my body would join the rest underground." She's smiling, because she knows something that he doesn't.

He opens his eyes and shakes his head. "What does this have to do with anything?"

She's beaming now. "Because the dead are beneath us. Waiting to be atoned for their sins."

…

Astoria doesn't often leave the Manor. Not after several mass graves were unearthed, revealing children and elders alike. Ginny Weasley's frozen body had been dragged free from the dirt's clutches. After the infant had been discovered. After the tiny little Luna Lovegood's bloody body had been released from its tomb.

They've all been preserved. Nothing changed. The bloody smile on Luna's neck look like it had the last time he had seen it. Vengeful and deadly. The terror in Weasley's eyes remained frozen, similar to the knife in her chest.

He vomited after discovering the bodies, but Luna only watched. "Are we still dirty, Draco? Is our blood unclean? Will we ever be good enough?"

He stops sleeping afterward, because all he can dream of is little Luna Lovegood sitting outside his window begging to be let in because she isn't really dead.

In reality, he's surrounded by the dead. Buried and rotting within their grasp, he'll never escape.

"Tell me a lie, Draco." Luna whispers, watching blood run down his wrists, knife fall from his grip. It makes a hollow sound, hitting the ground.

He chuckles weakly. He tells her the best lie he knows. "I'm alright."

…

He's overwhelmed by this figure. Burrowing her way so deeply in his life, and tangling him up in her death. He's struggling to free himself, but only to be snared tighter.

He loathes and hates her, wishes her to hell.

"The morning will come soon." Her words are warm, despite the strange frown.

Dried blood covers his hands, and he's unable to step away from the corpse and the ghost. "I know, Luna."

"Staying here will not accomplish anything." She speaks stiffly, looking at the mangled dead body of her own.

Eyes resting shut with subtle peace, her face pale with death's clench. Her hair is tangled with dying leaves, and fingers grasping into nothing.

"I never meant to kill you," His words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them.

She shakes her head. "I'm dead Draco. By your hand. This is your sin."

"I'm sorry," He whispers softly, before bending to press his lips to her frozen forehead.

She scoffs, turning away. "Don't lie to me. Don't tell me you regret this."

…

Sometimes he plays the flute.

The weaving notes spiral together in soft care, tumbling in the warm air. Luna hums unknown words to the sounds, and there is a blissful smile upon her pale face. The sun shines warmly, distorting her figure. Like a diamond, glittering and bright.

The midnight wandering the two had partaken of ceased to exist, leaving them to scrounge stolen moments. He had fallen in a deep, sickening love with this dead little girl, and she had fallen into death. No other words could make it better, but that was alright.

Draco loved the harshness and bitterness of each passing moment. She remains unchanged forever, but he was growing and learning and understanding and hurting. _He was alive_.

"You should learn the piano, Draco. Daddy had always said Whackspurts were fond of the tunes." She still believes in such fantasies, despite death and reality and boundaries that she shouldn't cross, but she does all the same.

"When will you ever stop believing in nonsense?" He asks sometimes, when he grows tired of listening to her strange words.

Her reply is like barb wire. "When I breathe again."

…

She has the face of a drowning girl.

Pale and frozen, eyes glazed over like pools of ice and poison. Her hair drifts down her back, a waterfall of silver moonbeams. The once angry scar upon her neck seemed to have faded ever so slightly. It still marked her death for him to see, but it just wasn't quite so angry anymore. Only resentful.

He finds it rather difficult. Remembering that she isn't alive and never will be alive again.

Sometimes he reaches for her arm. "I don't need you," He whispers when the sun falls to the moon, bowing in silence.

Sometimes, it is she that is the one that reaches for him. "Don't be a liar, Draco Malfoy."

…

"Will you ever leave me?" He whispers over a bottle of fine wine.

She's there, of course. "When I grow weary of this world, I suppose I will drift into eternity."

"Why don't you leave now?"

"I cannot. Not while you live and breathe. Your life chains me into this hell and misery." Her words are quiet. "I promised to never tell you until you gave your last dying breath."

He ponders her words carefully. "Why now then? I'm not dying, am I?"

"No, you're not dying." Her words are gifted with a smile. Fleeting and simple.

"Then why?"

Her laughter is cruel and mocking. "Because I'm a dead lunatic. What did you expect?"

…

"Am I insane?"

"Am I dead?"

…

**And there we go. After rewriting every word of this, I have finally finished chapter number two. The last one is the final chapter, and I'm going to move on to other stories. I hope you all like this, but if you don't, I'll be honest. I don't quite give a damn. **

**Next chapter will contain a brief flashback to Luna's death, as well as Ginny's. Both died together, in an odd way. **

**I have one Ginny/Tom story to spit out, and I have this very strange story I've had on my mind lately. Involves Andromeda and a certain Lestrange. **

**Oh yes. I did edit the last chapter, added a few things. Tied it up a touch more. Feel free to review if you want. **

**And yes. Draco essentially kissed a year old corpse. But the way I see it, is that some spell would have been placed to prevent the decomposition of the bodies, leaving her in essentially a preserved state. **


	3. Nightlace

**Of Liars and Pretenders**

…

"_There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so."_

_(Hamlet) _

…

_{nightlace}_

…

"I love you."

"I know."

…

_There were once two little girls hidden beneath stone and floorboard. One was red like blood, burning brightly in the wreckage of despair. The other was glistening like trapped moonlight, wavering firmly in the hellfire. _

_He watches them carefully, wand firm in hand. The bloodied girl screams foul words at him, ordering him to die. He laughs and mocks her, complimenting the heavy manacles weighing her limbs down. The other girl remained still and silent, tracing her fingers through the grime of the cellar. _

"_Death Eater got you tongue?" He smirks, watching her carefully etch out tiny little suns and butterflies in the shadows. _

_Ginny scowls, muttering, "You're bloody hysterical." _

"_Go choke and die," He returns the scowl freely. "Straight to hell." _

"_You've already got shotgun, I'm afraid." Luna speaks up from where she sits cross legged, a wide smile across her face. He doesn't understand her words, and feels foolish as they grin at his confusion. He responds with a mere curse. _

…

The baby screams, howling through the corridors. Astoria's death had hit him hard, of course. His first wife lying dead beneath the ground. Almost like Luna, but she was lying in utter despair and Astoria in eternal silence.

"She's crying again." Luna carefully speaks, feet skirting around the shattered glass.

He shudders. "She'll starve to death shortly."

"Another death at your very own hand." She smirks, lips darkening. "You must be feeling remarkably proud now."

"Shut up." He glares. His words were lined with venom, roughened with hatred.

She laughs wickedly, bringing the fierce memory of his Aunt to surface. "You can't silence the dead, Draco. Surely you've learned that by now."

He flings the bottle of whiskey at her icy form, leaving it to shatter angrily against the wall. "Go away!"

"I cannot leave." Her grin is razor sharp. "Not yet."

…

_Sometimes she cries. Not often, of course. _

_He loves it though, when she cries. Her tears roll down her ivory skin, running with gentle ease down her face. Her silvery hair is thrown back over her shoulders, and her eyes gleam with utter helplessness. It's pure beauty the way her tears drip into her glistening blood. _

_Her skin does not redden, nor does it form horrid splotches of rouge. It pales to a shade similar to freshly fallen snow, broken by her lips the shades of poppies. _

"_Does it hurt?" He breathes in her ear, delighting in each shuddering breath she took. _

…

He buries the child in October. If he hadn't been mistaken, little Ginny Weasley had been born in this very month. No one bothers to show of course, because his house mates are mostly dead or locked away.

"I'm still sorry." He tells Luna, as she stands amongst the frozen trees.

"I wonder if she is hurting still. Do you, Draco?" She wonders quietly, watching the gaping hole with eerie fascination. "It burned when I died. It had felt horrid, like my life was being ripped from my body. And then I was suffocating in death, and I was trying to breathe and live and not die. I was in hell and in heaven, being torn back and forth." Her voice had been warped by fear and memories, and he was trembling at the terror of her words.

He swallows. "I regret it. Every second I regret it."

"I hope you do."

…

_His aunt loves to torment the Weasley girl. He can hear her screams from where he sleeps at night, and wonders if Lovegood ever begs for it to end. _

_He knows that she had a nail that she plays with. She loves playing with her blood, burning death into her body. Sometimes she used her blood to paint her prison with life. _

_It's amusing. But bothering. _

_He loathes the fact that she's forced herself into his life. He hates the moments where he thinks of her. But he cannot stop, because every time his heart beats, he hears LunaLunaLuna. _

_Ginny screams a touch louder. _

…

When he had first met her ghost, he had been horrified. Her face was twisted in vengeance, neck bloodied with grief. Her eyes widened with horror and utter loathing.

"What would you do if you were still alive?" He ponders slowly, eyes blinking carefully.

She giggles; a sound he loves. "Kill you."

"That's pleasant. You would have been a stunning addition to Slytherin," He considers, imagining her form draped with silken shades of green and silver.

"My blood is sullied, however. You said so yourself." Her words mocked his.

"That was then."

…

"_You watch me." She announces, lying flat on her back. One foot dangles straight into the dusty air, and he winces. The breathing conditions had been horrid, and he wondered how she and the little redheaded girl managed. _

_He rolls his eyes. "Don't concern your pathetic self with my doings." _

_She murmurs, "You're rather interesting." _

"_You're dirtied with Mudblood." _

"_You insult my mother." She's stiffened now, glaring bloody murder at him. _

"_No. I insult everything you are. She's just a small part of it." _

…

"Why did your mother kill herself?" It's a question he's always wondered.

She studies him before shrugging. "No one knows. She just stopped smiling and faded away. It was sad, but she was happier when she died. She was smiling."

"Smiling? How do you know?" He's horrified with the very thought. Luna had cried when she died, and Ginny screamed when the knife was plunged in her chest.

"I watched. She burned herself alive." She shuts her eyes, looking out at the gardens. They're dying with the season, fading into slumber. The mass graves had been removed and filled, after his entire grounds scoured clean. The body in the closet of an ex-death eater had been difficult to explain, but a nice sum of money donated to Mungo's had smoothed the issue over.

"And you were fine with that?"

She silent, watching the leaves tumble to the ground. "I hope, when you pick Death's Hand, you will not fear it."

…

"_Do you think there really is such thing as good and bad?" Luna asked, gazing into the darkness. _

_Ginny rolls her eyes at such a question. "Of course. There are only us, and them."_

"_My mother used to say it is what we made of goodness and badness." Luna stretched her arms, revealing the angry cuts and bruising that had transformed her flesh into a savaged form. _

"_Then why would you ask?" Ginny looks at her strange companion, and Draco grins at her displeasure. _

"_Just making conversation. Dreadfully dull down here." _

…

He cuts himself, like she had.

He was carving murder into his life. It helps him think clearly.

Luna watches with excitement. "One of these days, you'll slip and die. You'll release me from this dreadful wait."

"It must be sad to be a Ghost, isn't it?" He feels alone, warmed by the presence of the sad little girl.

"It's horridly painful. Life is so close, and death is so near. Trapped in endless wait." She sighs, breathing in blood and lust. "It must be sad to be in love with a Ghost, isn't it?"

…

"_Kill her, Draco." Bellatrix leers. Her voice echoes with her murders, thousands of cries bubbling from her throat. _

_She presses a knife softly in his hand, blade against soft flesh. Biting down, he knows it's a mere warning. "I'll get her filthy blood all over my new robes." He whines, looking intently at the strange little girl, standing on battered legs. Ginny is screaming, pleading no. He doesn't want to kill her, because he doesn't want to be a murderer. _

"_Kill her, I swear to you I will rip your mother apart and feed her to the werewolves." _

_Fears claws at him._

_He grips the knife, and feels blood kiss his skin. _

…

"Do you ever regret?" He asks. Snow falls lightly over Astoria's grave. He lays flowers down with tender hatred.

"Sometimes." She shrugs, sticking her tongue out at the headstone.

He's curious, because as life drones on, he has little more to do with himself. "About what?"

"Words unsaid. Time stolen away. Actions never done." She studies him carefully.

"I think I understand."

…

_He stands behind her, her childlike body pressed against his. _

_He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, and she can feel it to. He's trembling, holding a knife to her throat, listening to Bellatrix cackle in the background. _

"_You don't have to do this, you know." Her words are almost unheard. _

_He swallows and tightens his grip. "What do you know?" _

"_I know you. Does that count?"_

…

He stands with a knife to his chest. She watches, eyes burning with hope.

"For you, Luna. I love you for eternity." He swears, magic pouring through his veins.

The knife feels right in his hand, resting over his heart.

Luna smiles. "Now, Draco."

…

_Ginny thrashes against the restraints. Bellatrix paces before him. Luna whispers nonsense, words rapidly spilling out. _

"_Please don't Draco. I want to live." She pleads. "Don't kill me for her." _

_He bites back a sob, and presses the knife a little deeper. Blood runs freely down her glass like skin. "Shut up." _

"_I love you." She presses on, hands numbly fighting against his. The knife is bitter. _

"_Shut up." _

_Bellatrix tilts her head back. "Now, Draco." _

…

A tear falls free from her eye. "You never forget a person you kill, never."

…

**Done. Hope you all enjoyed. I tried to insert little flashbacks, to explain everything leading up to the scene. I had added Ginny into the story, for the simply part of me wanting her in it. Doesn't have much purpose, other than a tool I can play with. **

**So yes. Draco essentially neglects his baby to death. Loves Luna to the point of death. Bellatrix is a bitch. Anything else? **

**Reviews? They make me happy. **


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